


The Sentai Hentai Forums

by Vrunka



Series: Adventures of Sentaiman [3]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Cyber Ninja Hanzo, Edging, Identity Porn, Incest, M/M, Mystery Man McCree, Public Sex, Sentaiman Genji, Shimadacest, Stuck in a wall, cock shaming, dubcon, handjobs, noncon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-22
Updated: 2017-06-27
Packaged: 2018-11-17 08:36:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11271864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vrunka/pseuds/Vrunka
Summary: Commission for patatopatato who requested Sentaiman stuck in a wall! Thanks so much!!This has inspired me enough I think this will be like a uhh villains series so! Check back cuz there will most definitely be more inc...welcome to Super Meta of my own gotdamn headcanon, hope you enjoy the stay.





	1. Cyber Ninja's Secret Assault

**Author's Note:**

> Commission for patatopatato who requested Sentaiman stuck in a wall! Thanks so much!!
> 
> This has inspired me enough I think this will be like a uhh villains series so! Check back cuz there will most definitely be more inc...welcome to Super Meta of my own gotdamn headcanon, hope you enjoy the stay.

This is not the first time this has happened.

Maybe it's why Sentaiman doesn't freak out the way he should.

He is moving swiftly through the alleys of Hanamura, keeping an eye out for trouble or danger. And then suddenly he is not. Paralysis. The suit seems to seize up around him. The latex constricts. Like moving through static, thick and clinging. His breath stutters through the filter on the mask.

This is not the first time this has happened, strange, unusual constricting of his limbs. This is the first time, however, it has felt so complete. Full-bodied.

Suspended as if in a web.

Helpless.

He pushes his arms out in front of him; moves them like a swimmer in slow motion. Breaststrokes that move him nowhere.

His legs kick, attempt to lift. Both toes of his boots scrape against the ground.

Sentaiman's brain rejects the thought. Vertigo hits him in the stomach.

He glances down at his feet.

But he cannot see them.

Thick, swirling golden light spreads like a sheet across his lower body. It extends outward, suspended impossibly in the air, glittering and hanging. Beautiful and terrifying.

And he is stuck in the center of it. If he leans his upper body back (grits his teeth and shoves and shoves with all his might, tightening his core) he can feel the back of his helmet clatter against a wall as solid as the one in front of his knees.

His toes scrape against it.

His fingers dig.

But he is well and truly stuck.

And it is then that the panic sets in.

Copper across his tongue, thick and metallic. He frantically claws at where the wall closes impossibly around his waist. Within his gloves his palms are sweating, a nail tears. The white fabric seeps with red.

Within the mask, he is hyperventilating. Sweating. Grunting as he tries to push himself forward, pull himself back through. But he is stuck.

He is stuck.

The tips of his toes brush the ground. He tries to walk them up the wall, to get his feet flat enough to get the leverage to yank himself backwards. His spine aches.

As if sensing his intent, the wall where he presses seems to become less solid. His feet cannot get traction.

Impossible.

It's impossible.

Logically, he knows this is hard light, he remembers reading about the theft of the latest Vishkar Industry model. The scientists in lab coats all over the news begging for its return.

So.

He knows that this must be the thief, doing this. But that doesn't quell the panic any. He kicks out and the wall turns perfectly solid again.

He has started to cry.

Not that he will ever, ever admit it. But it's been fifteen minutes and nothing has changed and no one has come and he is humiliated and frustrated and a little scared and helpless.

Vulnerable.

The salt water runs across the seam of his lips, slips up into his sinuses when he slumps fully forward.

He cannot see his knees or his feet. It is like they are disconnected. Someone else's.

Sentaiman draws in a ragged breath.

And that is when he hears the footsteps.

"Finally wore yourself out?" A voice asks.

Sentaiman thinks of the people he knows, the other people he has faced off with as Sentaiman. People willing to call themselves his arch-rival.

The voice matches none of those.

The voice is cool. Cold. Maybe a little muffled. Something over the mouth perhaps. A mask like Sentaiman's own? No hard plastic reverb though. No mechanical filter.

Sentaiman's struggles renew. Twisting his head, trusting all of his weight against the barrier holding him just above the hips. The wall is too shimmery, distracting, he cannot see through it.

The person remains a mystery.

A hand touches his back, just where the wall swallows him. Sentaiman flinches, his knees bang hard, the armor he wears there digs into his skin, even through the spandex of his pants.

"Well now, Neo Sentaiman," the voice says, "what will we do about this, hm?"

"W-who are you?"

The someone chuckles. "You think you know me?"

"I don't know!" Sentaiman presses his palms flat and cranes back. His abs protests the stretch, his hips hunch against the whole. "Let me out," he says. "This isn't funny."

"You sound like a spoiled child," the voice says. The hand returns, stroking the stressed, tight muscles in Sentaiman's lower back. "Is that what you are behind all the masks and bravado?"

"Get off of me! Stop touching me!"

The hand does leave him then. It's foreign weight gone. Missing. But not for long. It skates up his thigh, fingers pressing tight against the inseam of his spandex.

The panic is returning in waves. Building and building, making him lightheaded with it. Sentaiman wriggles, snaps his legs closed on those offending hands, shielding himself.

"What are you doing?"

"What does it feel like?"

Sentaiman swallows, convulsive. The world beyond his visor--the AC units and graffitied walls--spins. More tears now, shameful humiliated hot burning stinging tears. They make his vision blurry. His hands press down on the wall, lose traction, slide further.

"Stop it," he says. "Please...just..."

"Just let you go?"

"Yeah. I mean...I'm--"

"Not very good at begging," the voice says. Interrupting. "Maybe if you...try harder at that I'll let you go."

Beg. The word is like acid. Cloying at the top of Sentaiman's throat. A burn spreading across his soft palette, down past his Adam's apple.

The hands part his thighs again.

This time Sentaiman does not fight back. He draws a breath between his teeth, sour, not filtered completely by the mask. Snot in his nose.

Another cold chuckle. The hands have reached his ass. They knead into the globes of it, parting it beneath the spandex. Sentaiman shivers, hates himself for it.

"Sensitive," the voice notes. Another sound, the click of a tongue. "The interesting things you learn about heroes. You must have felt the tests I ran, those early prototype arrows. I wasn't expecting you to walk so easily into this."

"You've been watching me? You're the reason I've been--"

"Gotta test the machine somehow right? And you do make...such a show of yourself."

It strikes a chord. Somewhere low down in Sentaiman's belly. The words of his family--a disgrace, an ingrate, making such a show of himself, useless, a waste, a whore, a whore--repeat in his brain.

There is no way for his assailant to know that, of course. 

But it hurts nonetheless. Maybe hurts more for it.

Those hands, large, wide-palmed, caress the swell of his butt. Sentaiman can feel their heat like it is against his skin. Branding into him each finger.

He kicks his feet, weakly, the angle is wrong, no leverage. The instep of his boot catches on a shin, slides down far too smoothly. Metal bracers of some sort. The offending leg is caught, bent, held up and out of the way.

Sentaiman jerks, bites his lip to keep from yelping as his hip joint protests the new and sudden stretch. Foreign hips fill the space between his thighs.

A crotch against his ass. Moving against him. A threat.

"You should play nice," the voice says. "Unless you want me to leave you here after I'm done. Like some public use toy. Like some whore."

Leave him here.

Like some whore.

For his family to find.

Oh god his brother, he can imagine Hanzo's face. The shame. The disappointment. He can't do it, can't bear it.

He bites back another noise, closer to a sob this time. He ruts back against the body wedged so tightly against his own. It isn't hard to feel the way the assailant's cock stirs against him. Burgeoning erection, fuck, it already feels huge.

Sentaiman's fingers scrabble against the wall when the stranger thrusts back. Grinding against his clothed ass. Harsh, uneven thrusts that push the air from Sentaiman's lungs to fog the inside of his visor.

And if this is all it takes, then-then Sentaiman can handle it. If this is all it takes then he will consider this a small mercy.

But of course.

This is not all it is going to take.

The hands on his hips shift around to cradle the front of his uniform. The zipper and clasp at the front are well hidden, the fingers graze by them twice before catching the edge of it.

Sentaiman has a moment, lucid and horrifying, that at least the stranger isn't just cutting his clothes off, isn't ripping or ruining them. There's his small mercy; he only gets one.

The attacker tugs the material off his hips the pants and thigh guards get caught up on the knee pads. Won't go any lower. It doesn't seem to matter. The hands slip into his jockstrap, tug on the bands so they snap back against Sentaiman's skin.

Sentaiman groans, he flinches away. But there is nowhere to go. One questing set of fingers hook beneath the athletic cup, the sweaty confined space of it. A fingertip presses against the head of Sentaiman's dick.

It feels like nothing.

The violation so complete that Sentaiman barely registers it. The body beyond the hole isn't his. It's happening to someone else. The sensations are far, far away from him.

"So small," the voice coos. "Oh, Neo Sentaiman...I was...well, with your swagger, with your confidence I was rather expecting to be impressed but..."

Sentaiman shakes his head. He doesn't know if the molester can see through the wall in a way he cannot, but he doesn't care.

"You can admit you're overcompensating," the voice says. The fingers slip further, knuckles catching on the edge of the cup, knocking it out of place. The hard plastic digs into Sentaiman's balls and Sentaiman shudders, jerks his hips away from the sharp, bright pain of it.

"I want to hear you," the voice says, "admit you're overcompensating."

Sentaiman takes a breath. It doesn't quite reach his lungs, it dies somewhere in his throat.

"I-I-I'm--I'm overcompensating."

"Good, good, that wasn't so hard now was it?

"Now," the voice says, twisting up, Sentaiman can hear the grin in it, "what are you overcompensating for?"

"Nnn," Sentaiman grits his teeth. The hand cups him fully, fingering his foreskin, the sensitive slit, moving the flaccid cock this way and that. Feeling the bend of it. Testing.

The contact, unwanted as it is, sparks something in Sentaiman's gut. Fear and disgust rolling over together into something else. Shameful arousal.

His dick twitches.

The assailant chuckles. Tugs with more purpose on the foreskin, moving it back from the head.

"For my-m-m-my small dick," Sentaiman says. "I don't. I don't want people to know."

"People already know," the voice says. The hand jerks him off, slowly. And horribly, horribly, Sentaiman begins to get hard. Firming up in that just slightly too loose grip.

He wants to deny that fact, separate himself from it. But he can't; his face is burning, tears and flush both scalding his cheeks. And his cock is beginning to leak just a little bit in the villain's gloved palm.

And then like that, just as it is starting to feel good, as if to spite him, the hand leaves him. His jock strap is pulled roughly to the side, the cup clatters to the ground. A strap snaps, cool night air against his ass, his dribbling cock.

"Nnn--"

"Are you going to tell me no," the voice asks smugly. "Are you going to fight me?"

"No..."

"Hmm. What a good boy. You're trembling, did you know that?"

Sentaiman had not known that. His legs twitch against the stranger's hips. The hands, startlingly gloveless, caress his now uncovered ass.

"Are you scared of me?"

One hand leaves. Momentarily. Sentaiman's skin tingles at its return. The fingers are slick, moist. Trails of goosebumps in the night air. Prickling gooseflesh.

Sentaiman draws in a breath. It whines in his throat.

"I asked you a question."

"'m not scared."

The fingers curl, nails now, dragging; pushing the spandex of his shirt up to scratch lines into his back. "You'll have to speak up, didn't your parents teach you diction."

"I'm not scared."

The hands pause. Sentaiman can hear the assailant breathing. The wet suck of it through whatever is covering his face. A finger grazes over Sentaiman's balls. Two fingers. A palm. Rolling them, gently, tenderly. Sentaiman's knees bang against the wall, produce no sound beyond a dull, stinging thump.

"Bullshit," the voice says. "Tell me you're terrified." The fingers continue to caress him, pinching each ball in turn, tugging on the pubes. "Maybe that's why your cock is so small, shriveling to get away."

"I'm not scared," Sentaiman says again. Defiant. His bravado, this one little thing that he cannot give up. His pride be damned, his dignity. But he will not admit to being scared the way that he is. He won't confess that.

The fingers press tighter, still a shade from too painful, but definite, threatening pressure. A thumb digs against his taint and Sentaiman howls. Unexpected pain and pleasure buffering through him. He wriggles within the wall.

Like every other time, it does no good. It does not budge.

"F-fuck," he groans. His body reacting despite himself. His cock drools, he doesn't need to be able to see it to feel the precome dribbling from the slit. He can imagine it, the pearly, wet string of it oozing from the head to puddle between his feet. He twists his ankles, angling his toes duck-like to avoid the imagined spillage. His heels, still off the ground, knock against his nemesis' legs.

"Is that what you want? Maybe you're right and you're not scared. Maybe you're just a whore. Who knew what was coming."

The voice is clearer now, just slightly. Sentaiman is processing this when he hears the wet sound of something being sucked on, when moist fingers circle his asshole. 

"With a cock that pitiful who would touch you? You can't fuck anything with that. It's practically a clit. So you go around, day in and day out, acting like a fool hoping someone will just pin you to a wall and give it to you the way you need. Fuck you the way you need."

The words don't make sense. The sentiment, while clear, does not make sense. Day in and day out, but he has only been Sentaiman for two months. 

And then it doesn't matter because one of those fingertips presses in and Sentaiman's thoughts scatter. It's too dry, spit is not good lube, and the blunt, thick pressure of the finger is overwhelming.

"N-no!" The yell echoes within his helmet, down the walls of the alley. No. No.

No.

The fingertip crooks but goes no further.

Sentaiman is sobbing. There is no denying it now. Shudders wrack him. His entire upper body burns.

"What do you want from me?"

"You don't think this is what I want?" The voice asks. "Just to see you humiliated, put on the peg where you belong. That's not enough for you?"

"Please--"

"There's the begging I was looking for. Oh, Sentaiman, you sound so sweet like that."

There is a click.

And then cold, slippery slick is drizzled over where that finger is violating him. It slips free of him, then squelches back in, spreading the lube within him.

And while it is still terrible, at least it is better. The lesser of two evils. Sentaiman drags in a shuddering, shaking breath.

The fingering feels like it goes on forever. One finger, probing inside him, then two. The stretch and burn are bad, they hurt, but Sentaiman cannot stay on top of it.

The attacker's second hand has gone back to jerking his cock. Grip alternating between tight and satisfying--getting it so that Sentaiman is right on the edge, squirming and rutting and ready to come--and then backing off. Loosening, or leaving him completely, before returning once the immediacy has cooled.

Sentaiman floats.

The sensations happen, they roll through his stomach and up his spine. The arousal at his core smolders and bites and rages. He is begging, babbling, crying freely.

But he is also barely conscious of it.

The hand releases his cock again. Three fingers spread within his ass. Curl and press and push. One clips against his prostate and Sentaiman, freezes, shifts. Hips hunching to press back and relive the sensation again.

The finger returns, cocks against the bundled nerves relentlessly. A second finger, messaging and teasing. The hand does not touch his cock again, Sentaiman is grateful. Sentaiman is heartbroken.

Sentaiman is enjoying this.

Which is disgusting, which is awful and shameful and bad. But he can't help it. Every sensation is a razor, cutting him to the bone and leaving him trembling and raw.

The fingers fuck against his prostate, his cock jerks. Sentaiman imagines the angry shade of red it must be, to match his face. A constant leak of slick come dribbling from the head.

He cannot take it.

His vision flickers. The world spins faster and faster.

"Please, oh god, nnn--please, I can't."

The assailant chuckles and Sentaiman, horribly, thinks of Hanzo again. His brother frowning, his brother laughing. His brother with his fingers in Genji's ass.

"Please what?"

"Ma-let me. Let me come, please," Sentaiman babbles. His voice echoes in the mask, his own pitiful begging stinging in his ears.

"Call me Cyber Ninja."

"C-cyber Ninja. I...please let me come."

The fingers twist. The hand returns to touch Sentaiman's cock. It barely grazes him before he is coming. Not a violent, streaking orgasm. But a ooze, flooding from him to drip heavily down his shaft. Thick, viscous ropes of it.

The fingers strike twice more against his prostate, milking the last of it from him, and Sentaiman whines, twists away as best he can. Overloaded.

The fingers leave him. Sentaiman is hyper aware of their absence.

He hangs from the wall, come-streaked, lube dripping from his ass.

He can hear the heavy breathing of the attacker behind him.

The rhythmic slapping of him furiously getting himself off. His cockhead nudges Sentaiman's ass, skims along the crack. And Cyber Ninja comes all over his back.

Sentaiman whines again. He rolls his hips. They are sore, his abs are sore, his stomach.

"Let me go," he says. His voice is thick and weary.

"Hmm, should I?"

"Cyber Ninja I--I did everything you--"

And with that the wall is gone. Sentaiman is ready for it, he collapses onto himself in the dirty street. A slump. A pile. His helmet smashes against the ground, he bites his tongue on the impact.

Bright copper blood floods his mouth.

A hand touches his spine and Sentaiman flinches away.

He does not look up to see the man who assaulted him like this. He is afraid of what he will see.

"Next time," the voice says. "I'm not going to go so easy on you, Neo Sentaiman. Next time, I expect a fight."

Next time.

Sentaiman's hands curl. His eyes shut.

"There won't be a next time," he says. "I'll catch you before then. I'll beat you."

"Really? Making threats while you're still so...vulnerable."

"It's not a threat. It's a promise."

"Hmm." Cyber Ninja intones. "I look forward to it then."

And with that, he is gone.

And Sentaiman is left to scrape up his pride and wipe off his dick and limp home.

To where his brother waits.


	2. The Man of Mystery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To offset the dark tone of the last chapter have some disgusting and gratuitous McGenji fluff.

"You askin' me on a date," the masked man asks. Grinning. The scarf has fallen down enough for Sentaiman to see the motion of his lips.

He is thankful his own costume does not allow for such scrutiny. Such a lack of privacy. He is blushing. He is glad that Mysterioso cannot see it.

The men they have apprehended groan on the ground. Tied up. One is bleeding lightly from the temple, Sentaiman isn't sure which one of them caused that.

"It isn't...I mean I..."

Mysterioso laughs. He laughs. And winks. "Was a joke," he says. He waves his hand. The mechanical joints click and whirr. "I'd love to get dinner. Beatin' baddies always works up an appetite."

Sentaiman nods. An appetite. The words move through him like a physical force. For about a month now, Mysterioso has been making appearances, showing up and, more often than not, helping out. They make a good team.

And Sentaiman wants to fuck him.

The desire is strange. Out of place. But the attraction is deep and rolling and unfathomable. Something about Mysterioso's quick tongue, his painfully American accent. The winks and the flirting and the teasing.

Sentaiman looks away. Inside his gloves, his hands are sweating, fingers and palms prickling with it.

"Wanna come back to my place?" Mysterioso asks. "We can order in? Unless yer...trustin' me with your secret identity already."

Sentaiman swallows. He is and is not quite ready. Whoever Mysterioso is, he is obviously not from Japan. The Shimada name may not even mean anything to him. Maybe his own past is equally as speckled.

"Your place sounds good."

"It does, doesn't it? And it's close. Lucky us, huh?"

They take the back alleys, jogging through the dimly lit streets. Mysterioso keeps up with Sentaiman easy, it's impressive in a way Sentaiman doesn't quite know what to do with.

Mysterioso's apartment is a little, cramped space within the quiet Hanamura block. So different from Genji's own home. Little touches of warmth in what would otherwise be smothering claustrophobia. A table with a houseplant, a tube tv, an antiquated game system.

Maybe Sentaiman is staring. Mysterioso shuffles his feet in the middle of the room, palms the back of his head.

"'S not much," he is saying, "guess it ain't all that impressive but--"

"I like it," Sentaiman says. "It suits you," he says.

"You don't know me, but I appreciate the sentiment."

There it is again. Put so blankly. Sentaiman feels like he has taken one of Mysterioso's stun bullets to the stomach. Stinging, fluttering weakness.

He doesn't know him.

They do not know each other.

Working together for a month and this is the first gesture Sentaiman has made toward friendship. He feels guilty for it, feels bad, and this may be too little, too late.

"I...I would like to...know you better."

Mysterioso blinks. His eyes narrow. Then he grins, tugs the scarf off. Rolls he hat from his head, in a smooth, showy motion. His face, even with the mask still on, is handsome. Strikingly so. Sentaiman looks away, but he does not miss the chuckle that follows the motion.

"Know what you wanna eat?" Mysterioso asks.

"Not really." In a display of unabashed trust, Sentaiman reaches up to click the mouthplate of his helmet open. Baring just as much as Mysterioso had. Nose and mouth. Blushing cheeks.

He sees the way Mysterioso's eyes linger on his revealed features. It clusters in the pit of his belly and hums.

"I think I know what I'd like," Mysterioso says. He licks his lips.

Sentaiman expects him to step closer or finish off that lame bait with some other cheesy attempt at making Sentaiman blush more. Instead he turns, rustles under the low positioned bed for a laptop.

A laptop.

Quaint.

Antiquated. Like the tube tv and the PlayStation and Mysterioso's bank robber costume. From a time out of time.

"You like ramen?" Mysterioso asks. He sits on the edge of the bed. His metal hand on the sheets and even that is dated. Out of touch. Prosthetics nowadays are smooth and sleek, rounded joints and plastic casing.

Mysterioso's is raw, every cog and connector visible. Frank, cold functionality.

Sentaiman wants to ask him what happened. But he doesn't. He answers when Mysterioso asks him what he wants to order. He stands by the door like he doesn't belong.

He doesn't belong.

Here in this little apartment with its houseplant and it's time traveller. He is intruding on something. He should never have asked in the first place.

"You okay?" Mysterioso asks. Placing the laptop aside. "You're frownin'."

The damn faceplate. Sentaiman feels his lips twitch. "Uhh. I'm--" he trails off. "Sorry. I'm not usually this awkward."

He's not. When he is Genji he is as smooth and easygoing as Mysterioso. He knows how to flirt and how to have fun and how to be alluring.

Sentaiman is not any of those things, heroically charming, perhaps, but Genji has not crafted anything into him beyond that.

And now he is at odds with himself.

Because Sentaiman doesn't know how to ask a complete stranger to sleep with him. Sentaiman is a hero. Sentaiman is an ideal.

And Genji needs to stop hiding behind him.

He lifts his hands. He pulls the helmet over his head. He can feel the way his hair sticks up, floofy from dried sweat, he puts his helmet under his arm and tries to tame it with his free hand.

"I'm Genji," he says.

Mysterioso grins. Thumbs his nose. "Nice to meet you, Genji. And here I was thinkin' we wouldn't tackle secret identities until the second date."

Genji blushes. He looks away. "You said that was a joke."

"It can be if you want it to be."

"I don't."

"Don't?"

"Want it to be. A-a joke, that is."

Mysterioso grins. He pats the bed next to him. Hesitantly, Genji crosses to him. Their knees touch as he sits, the space too small to fit them both perfectly. Mysterioso either doesn't care or doesn't notice. He reaches out his metal hand to tap against Sentaiman's breastplate. The reinforced plastic shell.

"This wouldn't really do much against a bullet," Mysterioso says.

"Guess I'm lucky not too many people these days use bullets, huh?"

"I use bullets," Mysterioso says. His face is so close, leaning in to look at the armor. His eyes are brown, made darker by the framing of that black mask. Darker than Genji's own almost definitely.

"Guess I'm lucky you're on my side."

"Yeah," Mysterioso says. Breathing. They are both breathing just a little too heavily. Genji feels himself tipping forward just slightly in offering. Asking. Afraid to ask.

"I'm on your side, darlin'," Mysterioso says.

And then he is taking.

And everything is easier.

His mouth tastes different than Genji is expecting. Not smokey or earthy or particularly foreign. His lips are soft, taste of chapstick, the ghost of cherries at the corners.

Genji gasps when Mysterioso bites at him, returns the gesture, tugging on the masked man's bottom lip with his teeth.

It is not the frenzied makeout sessions that Genji is used to. There is something slow about it, something steady and sure.

Mysterioso lays back, pulls Genji over top of him. The armor probably pinches, Genji keeps his weight on his hands and knees to alleviate it. 

"So many layers," Genji mutters, pawing at serape, the vest. Smooth black silk sliding under his gloves.

One of Mysterioso's hands trace the edges of Sentaiman's chest armor. "You're telling me."

Genji sits up. He leads Mysterioso to where the armor is strapped in place. The harness that keeps it from falling. "I would be more comfortable without it," he offers.

Mysterioso grins. His teeth are yellowed from cigarettes, maybe booze, from time. His fingers move. Genji swallows.

The latch comes undone.

Genji slips the armor off. He undoes the bulky shoulder armor too and lets it rattle to the floor.

"Wow," Mysterioso says. His hands raking up Genji's sides. Tugging on the spandex. "You're pretty skinny under all that aren't you."

Genji blushes. His hands curl on Mysterioso's chest. "I'm fit," he corrects.

"I didn't mean it as an insult."

Genji frowns anyway. He pulls his shirt off, makes sure to flex as he does. Showing off his abs, the cut, defined lines of his obliques and his biceps. He drags Mysterioso's hands against him, filling Mysterioso's palms with his pecs.

The metal hand is cool, shocking; Mysterioso doesn't do much with it beyond letting it sit, letting Genji experience the difference slowly. His other hand--still gloved, the leather is also cool--pinches the nipple, tugs it between his fingers.

Genji's fingers brush the edge of his mask. His thumb catches on the corner.

Mysterioso does not stop him.

The mask peels away.

Genji touches the skin, traces the raccoon lines left on Mysterioso's face from the plastic of the mask. Red indents. Sore places.

Mysterioso's eyes flutter shut.

This is more than some quick fuck between coworkers.

This is delicate.

Maybe it's time Genji started treating it as such.

He leans forward, bracing himself on one arm to hover over Mysterioso. His other he slides behind the masked vigilante's head, angling it to slot their lips together again.

More slow, heated kisses.

Arousal licking at Genji's stomach, behind his belly button, but just a tickle; not all consuming. His erection isn't even worked to full hardness and maybe that's for the better.

Mysterioso arches up into Genji. His metal hand moves to pet Genji's side, each individual joint flexes against the skin. His crotch drags lazily against Genji's, not so much urgency as slow indulgence.

Genji can feel his hard-on, warm, even through Mysterioso's nice slacks.

"Can I touch you," he asks, grinding down against it. Rolling his hips.

Mysterioso chuckles. His eyes flutter shut and then open and then shut, timed with his breathing, his ragged panting. "You are touchin' me, darlin'."

"I meant like--"

"I know what you meant. You can if you want. It's no pressure."

"I want to," Genji says. "For awhile now...I've..."

"Lustin' after me, huh? Guess the Man of Mystery shtick works huh?"

Genji does not know the word shtick, but he doesn't ask. The meaning is clear enough.

The belt comes undone with a click, Genji doesn't even pull the leather all the way out from the belt loops, he gets it out of the way enough to undo the button on the slacks, enough to work the zipper down.

Mysterioso's cock fills the space; Genji doesn't even have to work for it. It fills his palms, Christ, its huge and warm and hard. Genji circles his fingers around the head, watches the way the shaft jerks in his hand. Thick. God, he is so thick.

"Jeeze," Genji says, chuckling a little bit. "Didn't know you were packing like this...how is this even legal? Should I be arresting you for carrying a concealed weapon?"

Mysterioso echoes the sound, breathless hitching, his chuckles sound strangled. His hips are shaking, struggling to stay still. "It ain't that big."

"It is. I'm impressed." Genji licks his lips, considers his next statement. "I...I don't think it'll fit without..."

Mysterioso goes scarlet. His metal hand covers his eyes. His hips roll, fucking his big, hot cock into Genji's fist.

"It-its okay," he says. "I wasn't really expectin' even this much. You're pretty hard to read, you know that?"

Genji had known that. Part of the Shimada coldness. Comes with the whole yakuza territory. He says nothing, instead he drags his fingers through Mysterioso's tangled pubes, circles the base of his dick.

His cock is neither as veiny nor as red as American porn would have lead Genji to believe. He takes his time; rolling his thumb against the slit, watching the precome form a drop, perfect and round, before breaking, running down over Genji's knuckles.

Beneath him, Mysterioso is a worked up, overworked mess. Sweaty and sticky. They both are so sweaty and sticky.

And lost to it.

Someone knocks on the door.

Loud.

The wood rattles in the frame.

"Fuck," Mysterioso groans. His cock twitching and a spurt of precome oozing out of the tip. "Shit. The food."

The food. Genji can't remember what he is talking about for a second; his brain blanks. And then he remembers.

Ramen, right, fuck.

"Delivery," the person on the other side of the door says, knocking again.

Genji stands. He must be a sight, Mysterioso's eyes linger over him. At least, thanks to his cup, his arousal won't be overly obvious to the delivery man. At least he hopes.

He doesn't put a shirt on.

It's weird enough answering the door with his thigh guards still on.

He swallows, pulls the door outward.

"Delivery," the dude says again. Looking bored. He passes the paper bag across the threshold to Genji. His eyes drop to the armor. His nose wrinkles. Then grins. "That's some legit cosplay," he says. "My girlfriend loves Sentaiman."

"Uhh." Genji swallows again. Blushing. Across the room, hidden by the door and Genji's body, Genji hears Mysterioso snort.

"Uhm...yeah," Genji says again. "Th-thanks, man."

The delivery guy's grin widens. "No problem, have a great night." And then he is gone, leaving. Genji steps back into Mysterioso's apartment. Shuts the door with his body weight, leaning back against it.

The soup sloshes in the containers as Genji places the bag on the table. He stumbles to the bed, collapses upon it.

Mysterioso touches his hair, flesh fingers (he's removed the glove, Genji realizes with a start) parting the sweaty, messy strands.

"You wanna eat," he asks.

Genji nods, not lifting his face from where he has buried it in his arms.

"His girlfriend loves you," Mysterioso says. "You're so popular."

Genji tilts his head just enough to glare over his arm. "I hate it. I started cuz I...I want to help people. I'm not--I just, it's become this whole big thing. I never wanted it to be."

"I don't think anyone would ever accuse you of doing it for the attention."

"You don't know people then."

Mysterioso looks away. His cheeks are still dusted with pink, lingering. Genji is not sure why. He doesn't know how to ask.

He sits up. Swings a leg over Mysterioso's lap. Trying to ease whatever hurt it is he has caused. "Let's eat," he says.

Mysterioso's hand touches the leg across him, squeezes the shin. The metal fingers clicking. "Okay," he says. "Yeah that sounds good."

And really, honestly, it does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Always feel free to come talk to me on my tumblr: https://vrunkawrites.tumblr.com

**Author's Note:**

> Interested in other stuff like this? Come check out my new writing blog: https://vrunkawrites.tumblr.com
> 
> EDIT: https://sentaihentaizine.tumblr.com/post/163445744512/freeze-vigilante-youre-under-arrest-for-the
> 
> GUYS CHECK IT OUT! THERE'S A ZINE HAPPENING HELP US SPREAD THE WORD! APPLY!! ITS GONNA BE AWESOME!


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